


Legendary

by AceQueenKing



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Dark, F/F, Lust, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 18:39:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17792645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: Nothing follows in Aphrodite's wake like tragedy.





	Legendary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ashling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashling/gifts).



Aphrodite waits by the girl's bed, sitting at her feet. She observes her with a calm grace, not that Aphrodite has anything but grace. She stares at the girls perfect legs for a moment, then shifts, spreading her body next to the girl's own. Aphrodite lies near her loves so rarely, but then, rarely are the objects of her affection as beautiful as Helen of Troy. Even Pygmalion could not carve so beautiful a woman, Aphrodite thinks. 

Helen sleeps poorly, tossing this way and that on a bed that is not her own. Even in this restless state, Helen—nee of Sparta, nee of Troy— is lovely, her tresses fanning out over a pillow like one of Aphrodite's own fans, and just as beguiling. Aphrodite brushes one of her tresses slightly; she can't do much for the girl about the dreams, but she can make her even more beautiful. 

And she is so very pretty to begin with. Aphrodite did not carve her so —the power of the creator's touch has never been hers; no, if anything, she holds the other edge of the knife. Love destroys more than it creates. And certainly, considering Helen's finest two paramours are at the whim of other gods for love's wrath —Theseus still stuck in Hades' iron chair for perpetuity, all for want of an ill-chosen friend’s bride; Menelaus, no doubt getting his own war poison poured in his ear by that sore loser Hera, goddess of marriage—well. Nothing follows in Aphrodite's wake like tragedy. Love begets so many monsters that sometimes Aphrodite wonders if she is not one herself. 

And yet, despite knowing all that, she waits for the girl to wake, hoping to comfort her in some way. She's sent the boy Paris away, to tell his family of their new bride. Will Aphrodite's tribute be curse or be blessing? Perhaps a bit of both. What funny things mortals are, she thinks, spending so much of their brief lives sleeping. Helen's mouth falls open slightly, a little snore issuing forth—a charming little reminder of her earthly nature. She is not perfect, and therein lies the intoxication; she is a mortal woman, in every way. But she is the finest of mortal women, Aphrodite thinks. She will be a legend; Aphrodite will see to it, personally. 

Aphrodite brushes her finger against those soft, dewy lips. Unlike so many of her kind, she has rarely known the taste of mortals, and even less known the taste of a woman. But if she was to sample any woman, why not this woman, the most beautiful of any women in this world? What is Helen, if not a priestess to love? What is Aphrodite, if not a goddess meant to be worshipped? She's sure Hera is telling the husband scorned that Aphrodite is jealous, wants the girl far away from Ares' eye. But she's wrong. Aphrodite doesn't want to bury the girl in Troy; she wants to exalt her, until all that is mortal burns away and only the glory of this beauty is left.

She wants to taste her, wants to make worship upon this mortal and have it returned; wants to burn the world in beauty and love.  Aphrodite strokes the girl’s soft arm and dares to dream of touching more.

The girl issues a soft groan in her sleep, not invulnerable to Aphrodite's charms even unconscious. She's waking, and Aphrodite's time is drawing short; she knows if she stays, she won't leave, and the girl has her part to play in this tragedy. Aphrodite bends down and presses a kiss to the girl's cheek. "I give you my gift, beloved," she murmurs; her hand strokes the girl's cheek in adoration and beautiful eyes turn toward her, fear and surprise all too evident in that face.

"Are - are you...have you come to k-kill me, m-my lady?" Helen whispers, even as her breath grows deeper, her pupils’ dilate. She cannot fight Aphrodite’s charms; no mortal can, and few Gods, even.  "I have always tried to keep with the god's commands, I...please. Spare my life. I have children, I…Please."

Aphrodite is, in truth, a bit disappointed; someone so beautiful should not beg so readily, but doubtless, Ares, that jealous cur, has been spreading stories of her wrath, and given her Spartan legacy, this girl has no doubt heard them all. A pity that, but they’ll overcome it, if not today —already Paris climbs the steps, all too eager for his first taste of his prize-bride. How Aphrodite wishes she could savor it instead! But love, Aphrodite knows, is a fickle prize, and the boy may well find it snatched from his fingers when Aphrodite wants the girl back. She is immortal after all; she can afford to be patient. 

"Oh, my darling. I'm not here to kill you." Aphrodite stands, brushes the girl's beautiful, flowing hair one last time before she vanishes back to Olympus. Even as her body vanishes, she blows one kiss to the girl, gives Helen something to dwell upon until she returns.

"Helen, I'm going to make you live forever," she says, and though the girl breaks into tears at the words, Aphrodite knows she’ll come around.

After all, no one can resist Aphrodite, in the end.


End file.
